Truths and Lies
by Winter Sapphire
Summary: Peter always told her the truth, and she hated that she could only see them as lies. future!PeterClaire.


Title: Truths and Lies  
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Claire (canon)  
Summary: Peter always told her the truth, and she hated that she could only see them as lies.  
Rating: PG-13 (slight cursing)  
Spoilers: Spoilers for the first episode of season three, even though it's only two years in the future rather than four.  
Disclaimer: I wish it was mine. :c But alas...  
Author's note: The season started out four years in the future, but this piece only takes place two years in the future.

* * *

"Claire." She ignored him, instead choosing to push harder and harder on the steel of the gun with the cloth. Peter rolled his eyes, reaching up to grasp her by the shoulder. "Claire, please. Listen to me, will you?"

"There's nothing to _listen_ to, Peter," Claire snapped, wrenching herself out of his grasp and twisting herself to face him. "I have to do this. You know I have to."

"You don't _have_ to do anything," Peter countered, taking a step closer to her subconsciously. His gaze latched itself onto her's, and no matter how hard Claire tried she couldn't force herself to look away. She could only hear Peter's breathing slow as he reached to dust across her cheek with the back of his hand, his voice barely above a whisper, "I know you. You're not a killer."

For a moment Claire let herself lean into his touch and for that one moment she almost believed what he had said. Almost, but like it always did the anger flared up inside of her chest and she pulled herself away, loading the gun and clicking it into place. She strode away as quickly as she could, not even bothering to look back at him until she stood in the doorway.

"You're wrong, Peter." Claire said coolly, her eyes stone-cold this time as they met his. "I am."

With that she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her dully, and Peter was left with his pained gaze staring sorrowfully, longingly, at where she had just been.

--

The sun was just rising when she returned. Claire was moving slowly, her muscles heavy and her heart even heavier. Peter was reclined awkwardly on the couch, legs and arms sticking out in odd directions as he slept. He was snoring loudly (something Claire had been surprised at when she had first caught it, he always seemed like the quiet-sleeper type) and his bangs were hanging in front of his face in a way that shielded his eyes.

He seemed to be at peace, unafraid. Claire's hand curled itself into a fist.

"I could kill you right now," she muttered, her eyes glowering as she stared at the floor, "I could kill you and you would never even know. You- you're always so _trusting_, so _hopeful_. You still think I'm that innocent little cheerleader you saved in Texas? Get a reality check, Peter. I'm not her anymore."

Claire breathed loudly through her nostrils, shaking her head as if for emphasis, "I'm not."

"Bullshit."

Claire jumped, her hands instinctually grasping the grip of the gun and raising it to point at head level. It took her a second to recognize that it was Peter's dark eyes staring back at her, and she scowled before pushing the pistol back in its holster. "What?"

"I said that's _bullshit_," Peter repeated, shaking his head. "You think dying your hair and putting a gun in your hand makes you a different person? It _doesn't_. You're still Claire, and no amount of blood on your hands will _ever_ change that."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Claire hissed, her hand flexing itself at her holster.

"I don't know? I'm an empath, Claire." Peter was centimeters in front of her in a moment, grasping her hands firmly in his own. He lowered his voice, leaning down so that his bangs brushed over her face. "How long have they been telling you to kill me?"

Claire tensed, her breath hitching in her throat. "I-"

"At least five months, now." Peter stated off-handedly. "That's when the thoughts first started filtering through your mind."

"You've been reading my mind?" She meant to sound angry but her voice came out in a whisper.

"At least five months," Peter continued as his eyes bore even more fiercely into her's, "and I'm still alive. You said it yourself - you could have killed me. You could have. If you're such a stone-cold killer, why didn't you?"

"I- I never had a good cha-"

"_Why didn't you_, Claire?"

Claire snapped, pulling her hands free from his grip and taking a shaky step backwards as she screeched out, "I've already lost everything else, Peter! I can't lose you too!"

Peter clutched her back to him as she shook with silent sobs, stroking her hair and whispering nonsensical words into her ear even as she pounded desperately against his chest.

"Did you hear that?" Peter murmured into her ear as her nails started digging themselves into his back. "That sounded like the Claire I know."

"I- I hate you, Peter." Claire buried her face into his neck, her eyes squeezed as tightly as she could get them. "Why- why do you _do_ this to me?"

Peter just tightened his grip around her, mouthing nonsense into her ears, silently hoping that one day she could see herself in the same light as he always had.


End file.
